From Thy Own Lip
by forthegenuine
Summary: In the autumn of 1808, Sherlock Holmes––known to many as the world's only consulting detective––caused a stir when he announced that he had taken up the profession of a magician. Regency AU. Written for Halloween at 221B.


**A/N:** My humble offering for the Holidays at 221B, Halloween round. Heavily inspired by _Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell_ by Susanna Clarke. This is the most Halloweeny I get, also, it's my first time writing Sherlolly period genre (crosses fingers). Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"From thy own lip I drew the charm..."  
––Lord Byron, _Manfred_

 _shmhshmhshmhshmhshmh_

In the autumn of 1808, Sherlock Holmes––known to many as the world's only consulting detective––caused a stir when he announced that he had taken up the profession of a magician.

He clarified shortly after, that he would not abandon his calling as a detective, but that his methods would hence forth involve magic, so as to aid or expedite his crime solving.

The following week, Holmes received even more than the usual number of inquiries and appeals for his help than he was used to. Out of the many handfuls of letters, one such plea piqued his interest.

The letter was from a clergyman by the name of Stamford Hooper, whose sister Margaret had unexpectedly succumbed to a bout of madness. Mr. Hooper explained that his sister was a bright, promising young lady at the pluck of womanhood. That is, until two months ago, when she was all of the sudden changed. She no longer took her walks nor enjoyed the society of her friends and family. She had even neglected her most favoured of all passions, which was to read and study books of science and natural history. Instead, she took to her rooms most of the day, shutting out daylight, and chattered about nonsense whenever anyone attempted to engage her in conversation. For these long, agonising weeks, her family and friends, and indeed doctors, could not determine the cause for such a loss in Miss Hooper's vibrancy. He implored Mr. Holmes to help restore Miss Hooper to her previous self, if it was within his new powers to do so.

Holmes was so moved by the strength of Mr. Hooper's words and his affection for his sister that he had already decided upon an answer before his eyes reached the last word of the letter.

He walked to the silver dish that rested near the window and filled it with water from a copper pitcher next to it. He quartered the surface of the water, which glowed as if tiny fireflies lit it wherever he tapped with his finger. He made some gestures with his hands and muttered a location spell. His reflection on the water disappeared, and in its place the figure of Margaret Hooper appeared. She was dressed in a white muslin dress, and her long hair––tendrils of it framing her delicate face––was gathered at her nape untidily. She sat, staring at the window, looking almost like a statue, she was so still. Holmes could not help but think how lonely she looked, and his heart gave a tiny lurch within his chest. After a few moments, she turned her head slightly, almost meeting his gaze. He held it only for half a second before he waved his hand over the water and her image disappeared.

For an brief instant, Holmes held the vision of Miss Hooper in his mind, but he replaced it quickly with the thought of what an invaluable service it would be for crown and country to discover the use of magic to cure madness.

Holmes replied to Mr. Hooper, informing him that he would take up his case. He wrote another letter to his friend, Dr. Watson, and asked him to meet at the address in Shoreditch. He put on his coat, placed his most worn spell book in one of its pockets, and called for a carriage.

 _shmhshmhshmhshmhshmh_

Holmes saw a familiar face, upon arriving at the Hooper residence. "Watson," the magician greeted.

"Holmes," said his friend in return. "I have already been to examine the young lady, as you requested." His voice was regretful and grave. "She appears to be truly beyond the cure of medicine. I sincerely hope you are able to help her."

Holmes was prevented from answering by the master of the house. Stamford Hooper took his hand to shake, before he even offered an introduction. "Thank you for coming to our aid, Mr. Holmes. We are at a loss for what ails our dear Molly's mind."

"I shall endeavour to do my best, Mr. Hooper. May I be permitted to see the miss?"

They led him to Miss Hooper's rooms on the second floor. Holmes's eyes were drawn to the lady sitting in the same chair and the same attitude as she did in his vision of her.

"Miss Hooper?" he called, approaching her slowly, while Dr. Watson and Mr. Hooper waited behind him. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am a detective magician." He winced inwardly, thinking rather that he should perhaps change his title in future. He was only thankful that the lady was in all likelihood not aware of his embarrassment. "I have been summoned to try and help you."

With this, Holmes removed his gloves and placed them in his pockets. He took out his spell book, and reviewed some of the notes he made in the carriage ride earlier. He set the book down on a nearby table, and lowered himself on his haunches to better gaze at Miss Hooper.

She looked just as she appeared in his water dish back at Baker Street, but seeing her in person, Holmes's heart again gave a treacherous flutter. Even in her state, he could see she was attractive. To be sure, she was not attractive in the common way other ladies of society were called beauties. Holmes admired the countenance of her face and the lovely shape of her mouth. Her eyes, which now seemed to be covered by something that looked like a sheer film of dirty glass, were an intelligent shade of the warmest hazel. He could see the ghost of red on the apples of her cheeks. He vowed to help her as best he could.

He poured some water into an empty glass from the nearby table, and held it in one hand. With his other hand, he gently took hold of hers, and was immediately struck by how cold it was, despite the fire glowing in the fireplace and several candles aflame. He whispered a spell, and held the glass in front of Miss Hooper. The water in the glass emitted a small blue light that turned red. He stared at the lady, his eyes wide with realization and something resembling fear.

"She is not mad," he pronounced. "Miss Hooper is under an enchantment." He stood up to reach for and opened his spell book, replacing it with the glass of water. He turned the pages of the book almost frantically, his notes forgotten. He looked up at the two men, whose faces were blank with confusion. Holmes explained further, "There are stories of faeries, spirits, who place humans under magical enchantments, or-or whisk them away to their lands. For what purpose, one can only hazard a guess."

Mr. Hooper clapped a hand to his mouth and began pacing the length of the room.

Holmes said more quietly to Watson, "An enchantment! I have never seen one before, let alone broken one."

"Try," Watson replied with a military tone. "For the lady's sake."

Holmes searched his memory for the right spell to break the charm. But none of them were specific enough. He was on his third attempt, when all of the sudden and to his surprise, Miss Hooper began speaking.

She spoke in their native tongue of English, that is for certain, but her words were entirely incomprehensible. Mr. Hooper assured Holmes that this was a typical symptom and part of his sister's mania. She would tell stories that made no sense or seemed fantastical in the least.

However, Holmes was not convinced. He listened intently for some meaning in her words. And then at last, it dawned on him. "It is not merely nonsense. Her words, they are a kind of cipher, a code!" He looked at the others and waved his arms animatedly, as if his gestures would facilitate their understanding. "There is a message hidden beneath her words," he said under his breath, so as not to miss anything she said. "Fetch me a quill and some parchment." Holmes held out his palm with anticipation of the objects he asked for. "With haste!" he added, almost roughly.

"E-A-S-T..." he spoke to himself as he bent over the table, scribbling away, crossing out words and substituting them with letters, with a quill. Suddenly, Holmes drew himself to his full height. He put his fingers to his temple, as if he were playing a pianoforte on the sides of his own head. "I have it!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I shall need a compass and something dead."

Holmes arranged a compass next to some dried flowers on the table. He summoned from his memory an archaic spell that he had committed to memory out of boredom one afternoon the past summer. He counted himself blessed to finally find use for his days of idleness.

He waved his hands over the objects and closed his eyes in concentration. Suddenly, to the astonishment of the two other men in the room, the dried flowers began to gleam as if they were made of diamonds. They seemed restored to their lively hue of green and violet once more, right before their eyes. The compass's needle spun several times with such speed that the needle was all of a blur. It eventually stopped, pointing so vigorously it vibrated, at the direction of Miss Hooper.

"Stamford?"

The men all turned to see Miss Hooper, fully awake, though slightly bewildered.

Mr. Hooper embraced his sister, who returned his affection with happy tears. Mr. Hooper helped his sister stand, and introduced her to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson.

"I know who you are. I was conscious of everything around me, but I felt as though I were in a dream," she explained to the men. "I did what I could to reach out to you from my imprisonment, but I was unable to... it came out all jumbled..." her voice trailed. She looked at Holmes, "But you, sir, you were able to decipher my message!"

"I did, Miss Hooper. Did you set me on that path on purpose?"

"I did, Mr. Holmes. The curse prevented me from speaking the truth, so I spoke in half-truths."

"Clever!" Holmes exclaimed. "May I ask a question?"

"Anything, Mr. Holmes."

"How did you come by knowledge of ciphers? Surely, it is not something that most people are aware of, much less young ladies."

"Oh, it's rather silly," Miss Hooper blushed. "Sometimes I amuse myself with puzzles, riddles, and the like, to pass the time. I feel it is important to exercise the mind as well as the body."

Holmes smiled at this. _What a marvelous creature_ , he could not help thinking.

Dr. Watson watched this exchange quietly. Neither of the two noticed that his eyebrows were in danger of meeting his hairline, they were raised so high. He left it to Mr. Hooper to interject, "Well, I shall inform our aunt and uncle of your recovery! Shall we convene in the sitting room downstairs?" In his delight at his sister's return, Mr. Hooper was already out the door, and did not bother to wait for a reply. Dr. Watson, who hid a smirk under his mustache, followed shortly after him.

Holmes offered his arm to Miss Hooper, indicating he would escort her downstairs.

As she took the crook of his elbow, she suggested, "What about a detective-in-magic?"

"I beg your pardon?" He looked at her in slight confusion.

"Well," she began, with an impish smile. "'Detective magician' sounds as though you should have some sort of hat, like a deerstalker, and carry a magnifying glass in one hand and a wand in another."

He blinked several times. "Are you making fun of me?" he asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

When Miss Hooper laughed, Holmes decided it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

 _shmhshmhshmhshmhshmh_

Unseen by the human eye, a figure stood in the corner of the Hoopers' downstairs sitting room. She had dark hair the color of ravens and pale skin that was almost translucent, with sharp eyes that glinted silver when the light hit them just so. Eurus, the faerie of the East Wind, watched the scene unfold in front of her.

The magician, Holmes, and his companion took leave of Miss Hooper, and began to walk out with the master of the house. Holmes lingered a little behind.

"Miss Hooper-" he began.

"Surely, Mr. Holmes, I daresay you have earned the right to call me by my first name."

"Margaret..." He tried her name on his tongue, but something did not feel right.

She let out a small laugh. "My closest friends call me 'Molly.'"

"Molly," he repeated. The sound of the two syllables seemed to fit perfectly. Almost shyly, he took the lady's hand, placing a small kiss on it. There was a promise from him to call upon her again tomorrow, if she was agreeable––and she was––before stealing away after his friend.

A little smile turned the corner of the faerie's mouth. Then, as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone.

 _shmhshmhshmhshmhshmh_

For the second time in the space of a year, Sherlock Holmes caused quite a stir when it was announced that he was engaged to be married to Miss Margaret "Molly" Hooper. Though, truthfully, the announcement did not come as a shock to Holmes's closest friends––chiefly, Dr. and Mrs. Watson––who predicted Holmes's affection for Molly was more than a passing interest but had matrimonial potential from their first meeting, which the doctor recounted to his wife with exacting detail upon his return that very night.

And, in that same announcement, Holmes also proclaimed that he would change his professional title to the world's only "Detective-in-Magic."

 _ **end**_

Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated! xo


End file.
